Periayya and Me - Summers at Melkote

Summer vacations in Melkote meant three things for me: a house full of cousins, endless exploration of the quiet little town, and the larger-than-life presence of my Periayya, Prof. M.A. Lakshmithathachar. He wasn't just a family elder; he was a force of nature, his booming voice reverberating through the house like a temple bell. As a shy 7-year-old, I wasn't sure whether to admire him or hide when he called my name.

Our ancestral home in Melkote was where chaos and tradition met. With 12-15 cousins under one roof, it felt like a festival every day. Amidst the joyful noise, Periayya's commanding voice would rise above all, issuing instructions to my Periamma about what needed fixing in the kitchen or the house. His presence was undeniable—tall, authoritative, and always on a mission. He could silence a room with a single glance. And me, the quiet, observant one, carefully watching the action from a safe corner.

“Priya! Come here and massage my legs!” his voice would echo through the house. My name, shouted like a royal decree, was enough to make me drop whatever I was doing and scurry over, trembling. I quickly learned that when Periayya called, you answered.

One of my clearest memories of Melkote was visiting the Sanskrit Academy he had built with such passion. Back then, it seemed like a mysterious place filled with ancient manuscripts and scholars discussing things far beyond my comprehension. My sister, Suma, was braver than me happily riding a horse that Periayya was tending to at the Academy. I, on the other hand, kept a respectful distance—from both the horse and the manuscripts.

It was only years later that I understood the significance of what he was doing. Those manuscripts were not just old texts; they were treasures of Sanskrit wisdom that Periayya was meticulously preserving and revitalizing for the modern world. What I once saw as “boring books” were actually timeless repositories of knowledge, brought to life through his relentless work.

A spark that never faded

In 2018, I had the chance to visit Melkote again, this time as an adult. Periayya, now older but just as vibrant, greeted me with the same booming voice. At our ancestral home, he eagerly showed me his latest project: a massive encyclopedic system for ancient Indian knowledge. Watching his face light up as he explained it, was like seeing a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift.

His enthusiasm was infectious, and his energy left me in awe. Here was a man who had spent decades bringing Sanskrit to life for the modern world, yet he spoke of it as if it were his newest passion. I couldn't help but marvel at his boundless commitment.

To the world, Dr. M.A. Lakshmithathachar was a celebrated scholar and a protector of India's heritage. To me, he was Periayya—the man who could simultaneously terrify and inspire, who brought our family together with his unwavering presence, and who taught me, in his own unique way, to appreciate the beauty of our traditions.

Looking back, I'm grateful for every summer spent in Melkote, and every moment that connected me to Periayya's world. His work taught me that preserving heritage isn't just about protecting the past—it's about lighting the way for the future.